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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28678101">Peace And Brotherhood Of Men</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlock/pseuds/softlock'>softlock</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence - The Empty Hearse, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, It's For a Case, John is a Mess, M/M, Nobel Prize, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, swedish royalty</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:07:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,627</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28678101</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlock/pseuds/softlock</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock act as a fake couple to investigate a case at the Nobel prize banquet.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes &amp; John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Physiology and Medicine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This fic is basically a way for me to get Johnlock in Stockholm, my favourite city! :)<br/>I've been having trouble writing and continuing my last story so I decided to start afresh.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“This is the only logical way forward! The murder of the famous scientist Ferdinand von Brugel so close after his nomination for the Nobel prize can only have been done by someone close to him. He had no living family, spending most of the time in his lab. He had no family and preferred to work alone so our suspect must therefore be someone else, someone attending the Nobel prize banquet! Going there together as a couple is our only chance to investigate the murder!” </p><p>"Well think again!" John exclaimed at Sherlock, who was watching John’s outburst calmly from his designer chair. </p><p>Sherlock had just explained his scheme and was quite pleased with it (though admittedly it was the only logical option available). However John apparently needed more to be persuaded. Sherlock wondered if John's neurons were rattled, or even awake for that matter.</p><p>“John, don’t be obtuse! We both need seats at the Nobel banquet, seats which are notoriously difficult to obtain. I will be representing Mycroft as a notable sponsor of the Nobel prize. Nobel prize winners are allowed to bring their family and spouse, and as big-headed as Mycroft is, he is not a Nobel prize winner but he has managed to secure two spots in the name of Holmes.”</p><p>“You mean you two were going together as family. I’m not family,” John pointed out.</p><p>“Well if you must know Mycroft was originally planning to attend with Gavin Lestrade,” Sherlock said with a huff, rolling his eyes.</p><p>“What! What the bloody—What?” John gaped, slamming his fork on the table.</p><p>“They’re engaged, didn’t you know? You are so oblivious.”</p><p>Sherlock sipped at his tea and watched as John tried to control his outrage. Sherlock liked observing the intricate patterns in John’s expressions and mannerisms. The little crease working between his eyebrows. The pulsating blood vessel by his neck. The tell-tale flexing of a hand. The discrete tapping of his foot. The tight pressing of his lips and the tightening of his jaw. John was angry about this whole project and was not to be swayed by logic. Very well then. Sherlock would need to appeal to different neurotransmitters. </p><p>“John, you know we work better together. I need you to be there, you enhance my problem-solving skills by 35%, I can show you my Excel sheet outlining…”</p><p>“Damn you and your Excel sheet!” </p><p>John jumped out of his chair at the kitchen table and pointed his fork accusingly at Sherlock. He had that dangerous little smile playing at his lips, and Sherlock knew he was in trouble.</p><p>“You might have forgotten –-hm?— that I’m engaged. An engagement you had the good grace to interrupt, hm? You might also have forgotten that I AM NOT GAY!” John shouted while jabbing his fork towards Sherlock at every syllable. </p><p>Sherlock curled up in his chair, pretending his defensive stance was him sulking rather than being genuinely worried about John’s next move. The man had punched Sherlock in the nose two months ago when Sherlock came back and Sherlock would rather face the Nobel banquet without a nasty bruise. </p><p>“Mary has already agreed,” Sherlock tried.</p><p>Evidently that had been the wrong thing to say.</p><p>“SHE WHAT?!” John roared, taking a threatening step towards Sherlock.</p><p>“Please John, calm down. I did not want to compromise your engagement so I went to her first, she took it very calmly and said it might do you some good to take you on a case. She can handle the wedding preparations and knows you are neither gay nor interested in me in any shape or form,” Sherlock pleaded.<br/>
</p><p>Sherlock was distantly aware he was babbling but was unable to find another way to navigate this situation. Trying to appeal to John's head and heart had failed and Sherlock was out of options. Basic physiology was no help to him here, besides the fact that medicine was John's specialty--not his. John looked positively furious. </p><p>“NO!” John growled out, thumping his fist against the mantle where the skull rattled, “I will not be your experiment in human emotions! You’ve already DIED in front of me for your own amusement, I’m not playing your funny little games again!” </p><p>And with that John strode out of 221B. </p><p>Sherlock could not bring himself to stand at the window and watch John. </p><p>His knees had started shaking.</p><p>Adrenaline. Basic physiology.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Peace</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Sherlock knew talking was not their best point, and John had performed admirably. It was brilliant. John was brilliant. He had restored order and peace in the universe."</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry about keeping these two at odds! I'm naming the chapters after Nobel prize categories, so here is peace.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sherlock was deep in his mind palace when John returned, soaking wet from the torrential rain London was prone to. </p><p>It had gone 26 hours since John had stormed out the door of 221B, surely he had gone back to Mary’s to cool off and gone to work today. </p><p>Sherlock chastised himself. Why did he call it Mary’s? John lived there now. </p><p>John had evidently needed some comfort from his wife to dull the sharp edge his freak of a flat mate made of his life. A brisk walk through the rain and some sweet words had not been enough. Sex, apparently, had done the trick. Sherlock felt a strange bout of nausea looming in. His brain’s constant lookout for clues was unbearable at times.</p><p>At least John had come back, Sherlock reminded himself. John was back with his warm oatmeal-coloured jumper and his comforting compact stance and his lovely scent of sandalwood and Earl grey tea. John had not forgotten him. </p><p>Sherlock sighed, feeling ashamed of his relief. His thoughts had been disorganized and chaotic all day, even after sorting and filing a few of his more pressing feelings away into his mind palace. This had been at least enough to stave off his need for cigarettes (or anything far more potent than that, if he was honest with himself) but he had been woefully bored and jittery. Mrs Hudson had offered him tea and scones on no less than three occasions, undeterred by Sherlock’s irritation.</p><p>John cleared his throat, shifting from one foot to the other.</p><p>“Good to know I haven’t been missed,” John pointed out, tilting his head towards Sherlock, who was lying still as a statue in his thinking position on the sofa.</p><p>Ah. That frustration John was displaying could be rectified with a simple acknowledgement or rebuttal. But John could not possibly find out how badly Sherlock needed John around, the amount of sentiment Sherlock had reeked of was disgusting. </p><p>“Fine, you just sit there,” John muttered with a shake of his head, “Tell me when you wake up so we can have an actual adult discussion!” </p><p>Sherlock gave a non-committal grunt. Yes, it was childish, but he wanted to let John feel a small fraction of the distress he had been in all day. John could not just come walking in as if his behaviour was excusable, he deserved a bit of pouting and resistance.</p><p>John huffed, which seemed to deflate his whole body. He dragged his feet to the kitchen and turned on the kettle, shuffling through the drawers and cabinets to find edible sustenance. Sherlock took this opportunity to observe as John rattled the boxes behind Sherlock’s finished slug experiment. </p><p>John had gained several pounds, but this did not serve to make him look healthy, on the contrary he looked tired and weak. John had large bags under his eyes and had not slept in a while despite his comfortable bed and fiancée. Sherlock hoped it was not nightmares again.</p><p>Sherlock remembered the early days as John’s flatmate, back when John had nightmares every other night and was still very affected by the horrors of his time in the army. Sherlock had soothed John’s restless nights by playing John’s favourites (Tchaikovsky, typically Valse Sentimentale) on the violin. John had slowly healed and Sherlock had thought was now nightmare-free, but apparently it was not so, and that knowledge made something twinge in his chest. </p><p>Damn it, sentiment!</p><p>“John, we can talk now,” Sherlock said tentatively. </p><p>John spinned around, eyebrows raised in surprise. Sherlock’s “strops” usually lasted a while but Sherlock couldn’t help but relent when seeing John so defeated.<br/>John seemed to sense that Sherlock was feeling sorry for their fight because instead of snapping, he walked over to his chair and lowered his head. John clasped his hands in front of him and closed his eyes. He took a breath and started talking.</p><p>“Sherlock, I’m sorry for storming off. I was angry but as you said we need to work this case together if we want to solve it and prevent more murders. Which is what we do -- you and I. This is what we do, and we were good at it too, before you—” John had to stop there to swallow, “Before you – left. We haven’t been on cases where we had to pretend to be a couple before and I’ve never been to Norway before, but we have done so many other things this won’t even be the most ridiculous. You in that sheet at Buckingham palace will always be more ridiculous. So that's that. I'm coming.”</p><p>John finished his monologue with a little smile and a hint of pride. Sherlock knew talking was not their best point, and John had performed admirably. It was brilliant. John was brilliant. He had restored order and peace in the universe. </p><p>There was affection there in that smile, Sherlock saw, and it made his insides feel warm and soft like honey. </p><p>“Sweden, not Norway,” Sherlock announced when he had regained his voice.</p><p>John was taken aback but then shook his head and chuckled, "I go through all that just so you could correct my geography? What happened to 'lost without my blogger'?”</p><p>Both of them shared a fond look, holding the tension in for a second, before they started giggling. </p><p>This could be all right. This was better than all right.</p>
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